


Doing The Best Things So Conservatively

by somuchforbaggles



Series: Well Respected Men [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Office, Come Eating, Episode: s04e17 It's a Terrible Life, M/M, Masturbation, POV Dean Smith, ball worship, salad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-26
Updated: 2014-10-26
Packaged: 2018-02-22 05:19:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2495900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somuchforbaggles/pseuds/somuchforbaggles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Dean is surprised once more – this time by himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Doing The Best Things So Conservatively

**Author's Note:**

  * For [almaasi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/almaasi/gifts).



> Aaaaaand here we have the ridiculous but fantastic salad kink I promised. Gifted to almaasi because this would not have happened without her comments! I hope I did it justice. This is the final part in the series, I'm afraid, but I do hope you've enjoyed it :)

Once upon three months ago, Dean had watched Castiel Adler sit in the leather chair opposite and likened him to a snake. ‘All fluid motions and a shifting head’ was how Dean came to the reptilian cessation, but now, as he watched Cas sit in the wooden chair on the other side of the table, he came to a rather Shakespearean conclusion.

Cas was not the serpent under’t, but the innocent flower.

The waiter handed them their menus, and Dean’s eyes instinctively scanned the words for one in particular: _Salads._ His mouth watered as his eyes noted that there were also quaint pictures next to the names and descriptions of the different salads. A certain delicious few jumped out at Dean, and his tastebuds tried to catch them, but to no avail.

"You're ordering a salad, I see," Cas said, a fond smile buttered on his lips.

Dean opened his mouth to answer, but found it already agape. "Am I that predictable?"

"I didn't want to mention it, but you make the same face choosing a salad that you do taking off my pants."

After a moment of stunned silence, Dean muttered, "Gosh, let the whole restaurant know, why don't you," his cheeks the colour of the rare steak the waiter had just bought the table next to them.

Batting his lashes and rubbing Dean's calf with his foot by way of an apology, Cas went back to the menu. Dean removed his boyfriend's shoe from his leg for the sake of his pants, and continued um-ing and ah-ing over the salads. On one hand, there was the [ Celery and Sopressata Salad with Lemon](http://www.foodnetwork.co.uk/recipes/celery-and-soppressata-salad-with-lemon.html), which looked equally and deliciously chewy and crunchy, and on the other there was the [ Southern Pecan and Apple Salad](http://www.jamieoliver.com/recipes/fruit-recipes/southern-pecan-apple-salad), the texture and dressing of which Dean's tongue would surely enjoy.

He heard a fading French accent from across the table, and tracing his lower lip with a thumb, Dean glanced up to where Cas was murmuring random words from the enticing descriptions.

“Niçoise…vinaigrette...rémoulade...endive...frisée…”

It was as though Cas had forgoed Dean’s calf and gone straight for his crotch, only with the words he was saying in that accented voice, as deep and as rough as the sea bed.

“It all sounds wonderful, doesn’t it, Dean?” Cas asked, cutting through the fantasies Dean was currently creating.

He was eating his way down a trail of lettuce on Cas’s body, nipping the candied nuts that were balanced on Cas’s nuts, licking the dressing that Cas’s cock was leaking. Rings of celery were perched on his perky nipples before being hooked by Cas’s tongue, and Dean’s belly button was tickled and kissed as Cas ate a bunch of chicory from it.

Yes, it certainly did sound wonderful.

“Dean?”

"Hmm? The salads, yes, they really do. Sound wonderful. The – the salads."

Cas looked at him with that knowing gleam in his eye. “This one especially,” he said, tapping the menu with a hungry finger. “The Pina Colada Tofu salad.”

Green eyes bugged as they searched enthusiastically for the said salad. Could Dean get drunk off that? He hoped so. He didn’t like to drink at all (a glass of wine had the same amount of calories as four cookies, and that was unacceptable to Dean Smith), but the idea of being intoxicated purely from a salad sent an excited buzz through his veins. _Ooh._ Tispy from a thought, that was a new one. For food, anyway. Dean had felt the effects of being love-drunk every time he thought of Cas for a few months now.

“You know what? I think I’m going to order that,” he said, the wicker chair he was sitting in creaking due to his excited butt. Salad-drunk and love-drunk was a good combination in its opinion.

“If you like, you can order all the salads your stomach desires. We can have a salad banquet,” offered Cas, staring wistfully past Dean.

 _Mmm, a salad banquet._ Dean’s tummy liked the sound of that very much. Bowls dotted along a stretched table, tongs poking out to say hello, and plates of sliced white meats and cheese-boards with vines of fruit strewn between the bowls. For a fleeting moment, the idea surpassed ‘cuddling with Cas’ in the vie for Dean’s ultimate bliss and arousal.

“Another time,” he promised in a murmur, sensing a similar thought process in Cas’s dark eyes. In a blink, Dean absorbed the other courses on the menu, and found that they weren’t as mouth-watering as the idea of what was to come after dinner, so he suggested, “Say, after our appetisers, would you maybe like to get out of here?”

Opposite, an eyebrow quirked. If the eyes were the windows to the soul, then Cas's left eyebrow was the rug under which the stairs to a secret basement was hidden. A secret basement almost overflowing with weird kinks.

“Only if what you have in mind is our ‘another time’,” the weird kinks purred.

Not one to dally, Dean murmured over the menu, “Your place or mine?”

“My place, so you can make a quick getaway if the dressing is not to your taste.”

“The dressing is always to my taste,” Dean mumbled, his heart racing.

However, his heart was not just racing in preparation for the evening of salad and sex. It was also racing because in the three months Dean had had this thing with his boss, he had never once seen his boss’s place. Cas always passed over the subject whenever it was brought up, claiming he liked Dean’s apartment far more, and that it was nearer to drive to. And though it had only been three months, he could tell when Cas was lying. His voice would become clipped, his eyes would stare unblinkingly for longer than usual, and his hands would lay limp, forgotten. Just like Dean’s feelings on the matter. It was fair to say that he hadn’t brought them up, but surely Cas would be able to read the subtext?

They ordered, and as the waiter walked away with their menus, Dean mentally walked away from the conversation to clear his head.

Cas liked him. That much was clear when he did things like make the journey down to the Sales department to request an urgent meeting with the director just to suck the director off and wipe his mouth with a yellow post-it (that colour marked Dean’s files as finished). It was also clear that Cas liked him when they were both too tired from work for yoga or sex or glass toys or for doing anything but cuddling and skimming each other’s skin with their fingertips. Cas liked Dean, and Dean liked Cas, and though Dean was forthright at work, he wasn’t so much in relationships. He’d worked too hard and played too little to be correctly versed in them. Dean was a dull boy; the human embodiment of Windows 95. But that was okay, perfect even, because Castiel despised Windows 8 and all its applications.

Cas liked him, and that much was clear when he tenderly took Dean’s hand and pressed it to his lips.

“Hey,” he whispered over the lemon slice floating in their jug of water, “are you alright?”

Dean nodded and squeezed the hand holding his. “Just distracted. Sorry.”

“If you so wished, I could distract you more,” Cas offered, kissing Dean’s knuckles once, twice, three more times. When Dean’s lips pursed in curiosity, he elaborated, “I memorised the salad menu.”

Getting hard in the swankiest restaurant in the city was one of the to-do’s that Dean had never written down or even thought about before the moment it happened, but getting _off_ in the swankiest restaurant in the city was a no-no too ingrained to even think twice about. Dean’s table manners and personal hygiene would not so much as consider it, so all the while Castiel murmured a plethora of salad terms in French for foreplay, Dean was determined not to let his cock get carried away. Certainly, it was twitching in his silk boxers as though it was the nose of a bunny rabbit, and leaking like a loved pair of shoes worn the morning after a night of torrential rain, but that’s all Dean let it do. The diets he had taken up in the past might not have given him the body he wanted, but they’d built up the self control he and others so admired in himself.

 _“Stop,”_ he whispered through gritted teeth when he doubted his self control for the first time in his life.

Cas simply let a devious smile play upon his lips, and held up his hands before holding Dean’s again.

“One of these days, I’m going to find a way to get you all hot and bothered in public,” threatened Dean in a mutter. It was meant to be menacing and perhaps fluster his boss, but Castiel’s smile widened into a grin while his eyebrows became pleasantly surprised.

Right, the secret basement chock-full of weird kinks. Dean should have known.

The salads came, and Dean’s table manners slunk off for a well-deserved break while their boss took revenge on _his_ boss.

Dean began by dousing a large tofu piece in the pina colada vinaigrette and licking it off with a quiet moan. It was enough for Cas to drop his fork, so Dean did it again.

“You are playing a very dangerous game, Mr Smith.” Castiel’s eyes were dark, darker than the sea at dusk.

Dean replied by sucking on a pineapple cube.

“Is that all you have to say for yourself?”

Dean worried a macadamia nut between his teeth.

“Very well. I hope you realise what consequences you’ll be facing.”

Dean kissed his way around another tofu piece. Whatever consequences he would be facing would be well worth it. And come to think of it, they would probably be hot, too. Cas would ravish him like the salad he forgot to eat because he was too busy thinking about ravishing Dean, and probably lick his nipples, and maybe even let Dean suck on his balls, too. Dean wasn’t allowed to do that last one too often, as Cas’s balls were too sensitive to be played with for more than a minute. After that glorious, heady minute, Cas couldn’t restrain his swimmers from diving onto his stomach and Dean’s face. It was a treat all round for Dean, but Cas wasn't keen on the fact that one touch to his taint could turn him into a teenager again.

Thanks to thinking about his boss’s balls, Dean’s dick was joining them for dinner once more.

“Shit, Dean,” Cas breathed, “are you turning yourself on right now?”

Dean nodded and moaned around the lettuce on his tongue.

Castiel slapped a fifty on the table, and for the first time in his life, Dean was excited to walk away from an unfinished salad.

“Try not to make me scratch my own car when you push me up against it, this time?” Dean asked, a hand on the small of his back guiding him in a trot to the parking lot.

“I’ll try.”

In just a few, determined strides, Castiel had Dean where he wanted him. He pushed him against the side of his Prius and kissed him hard, stroking the shorn hair at the apex of his neck, mindful of any scratches his watch might be inadvertently making though his tone had said _I’m making no promises._

It was outrageously hot, despite the chilly breeze of the October night. Castiel didn’t put product in his hair, so Dean could lose his fingers in it all he wanted, and his belt was always loosened when they went to dinner (“ _The next best bottoms after you and sweatpants,”_ Cas always said) so Dean could slip a hand down there as easy as pie to find something as equally delicious.

He bit on Cas’s lower lip, teasing it, showing his boss he was still hungry, hungry for everything, and Cas downright groaned. Dean had learnt from experience that Cas loved it when their teeth came out.

“Mmm, I can’t believe you turned yourself on just by _eating salad…_ Honestly, Dean. I should have you fired for being so indiscreet.” Cas buried his face in Dean’s neck and untucked his perfectly-tucked shirt (buttercup yellow, as they were out of work) to snake his hands up Dean’s well-toned back.

Laughing and squirming, Dean said, “You can’t fire me, I’m union.”

“Yes, I think _that_ is the dirtiest thing you’ve ever said. Wait – all dirty talk aside, when did that happen?” The barely-there tickling ceased, and Cas drew back, suddenly serious.

Which wasn’t good.

“A couple of months ago?”

“So...after _this_ started?”

Dean nodded.

“Why?” asked Cas. When he didn’t get an answer, he incredulously continued, “Did you think that the need for job security was especially high now that you had slept with the boss?”

“Uh, yes,” Dean answered obviously.

Castiel was cold in his reply, as though the wind had insinuated in his ears and left icicles in its wake. As though he’d snapped off a shard and pointed it at Dean’s heart. “I assume you’ve read all the employee guidelines and handbooks, so you know that I shouldn’t technically be sleeping with you.”

“Dating,” Dean automatically corrected. “We are _dating,_ if you haven’t noticed, _Mr Adler._ We haven’t been _just_ sleeping together for two months, now, if we’re being technical about it.”

“And I shouldn’t be dating you, either.”

“Then why are you?”

If ever there was a loaded question, it was that one. Dean could see Castiel checking the bullets in the barrel, flicking through which one would be the answer to blow Dean’s brains out. Would it be _‘Because we’re not gonna last long enough for the company to worry about’_ ? Or _‘Because you’re okay in bed and I need to pass the time with someone’_? Or maybe even—

“Because I like you, Dean. I really, truly like you. An immense amount. A _terrifying_ amount.”

Cas wiped a hand down his face, and the warmth was there again. It was weary from fighting the cold, but it was there. Dean kissed his ears, just to help the ice melt.

“I’m sorry,” he said with a peck to Cas’s worried mouth. “I just got scared. I didn’t want to lose my job because we weren’t uh… I want to say ‘float compatible’?”

“It’s ‘drift compatible’, Dean,” Cas replied with the tiniest of smirks, “and to clarify, I would never fire you just because we stopped seeing each other. You are too valuable an asset to the company.”

Dean darn-near choked up. They had come a long way from ‘Mostly Good’. “I think that’s the best compliment I have ever received.”

“ _That_ is the best compliment you have ever received? Not the fact that I really truly like you an immense and terrifying amount?”

“That one’s a close second. Planting a reassuring kiss to his boss’s cheek, Dean asked, “Now, would you like to make love to me in your bed?”

He didn’t have to ask twice, and soon they were on the highway, led to Castiel’s home by orange lights that looked as warm as the feeling in his chest. Once in a while, Dean would ‘miss’ the handbrake, and ‘accidentally’ pull Cas’s cock up. Well, it was just as hard, so Dean could hardly be faulted. It was only when his own cock began to be fondled very deliberately that he found the handbrake with ease.

Their breaths steamed up the windows, namely the driver’s side as Cas unbuckled his seatbelt and clambered over to rut against Dean’s thigh. Cas loved to rut, and Dean loved to feel Cas’s restrained balls dragging against his clothed skin, so it was a win-win position. Once, Cas had just rutted against Dean’s foot while pumping one of Dean’s beloved glass dildos in and out of Dean’s relaxed little balloon-knot, and they’d come as hard as each other.

Something buzzed against Dean’s leg, and for one, delirious moment, he thought that Cas had brought along a toy to dinner.

Dean would have been so lucky.

Cas pulled his phone out of his pocket and grimaced. “I have to take this,” he said, pressing a pausing kiss to Dean’s cheek.

“Yes? Oh. Yes. That urgent? Alright. Very well. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

Beseeching eyes and a voice full of regret confirmed Dean’s suspicions. “We have to make a detour.”

* * *

Apparently, there was a mole in the company. Dean knew that much, and that much only. Construction – it was a dog eat dog world. And apparently, the mole constituted as enough of an emergency for the board members to meet at nine in the evening, in the middle of Dean and Castiel’s date night.

And of course it would interrupt the date night where he’d _finally_ see Cas’s place. Perhaps it wasn’t Cas that didn’t want him to see it, but the universe. The universe that had tipped everything in Dean’s favour was only holding back on the one thing that Dean wanted most. Okay, second, after becoming the Chief Marketing Officer at Sandover Bridge  & Iron Inc. Maybe third, after having a family. Alright, fourth after—Basically, Dean just wanted to see where his boyfriend lived. He wanted to see _how_ he lived, to see if they were compatible. What kind of wardrobe space he had, and if his coffee machine was better than Dean’s.

Not that Dean was planning on moving in any time soon. Oh no. Dean cherished his city view, his sex-toy shelf, and his carefully feng-shui’d furniture too much to move.

Speaking of feng shui, Dean glanced around Cas’s office (where he’d been told to sit and wait ‘like a good boy’ [ _“Don’t treat me like a dog, Cas, I’m not even a fan of the position!”_ ] before being left alone and still with a semi) and fought the urge the rearrange it. All the plants were fake, and there was no focal point. It was all just _there_. Dean’s hands itched to do _something,_ but seeing as he was supposed to be a ‘good boy’, all he did was straighten the stack of magazines and menus on Cas’s coffee table.

They became crooked again as Dean found a way to relieve himself of his half-hardness.

He started by flicking through all the magazines with _Castiel Adler, C.E.O of Sandover Bridge & Iron Inc.  _ on the cover. There were shoots with him in ugly trenchcoats, interviews with his business know-how and dry humour, and candids of him in his humble home. The fact that Meg Masters, photographer for _Building Bridges,_ had set foot in Cas’s home and Dean hadn’t forced steam out of his ears, so he straightened the magazines again and moved onto the menus.

Dean didn’t even know why Cas had all the salad menus, but he wasn’t complaining. He eased himself out of his stained silk boxers, and ran a deft finger up the vein on the underside of his cock. It elicited a wonderful shudder, one that would only be multiplied ten-fold when he’d finished savouring the sensations.

While Dean read the top menu, he tapped his cock in impatience. It wasn’t quite hard yet, not even when he tapped it like he was walking down the frets of a bass guitar. That usually did it, because his index finger would land on his slit, and his other hand would tap glass against the pink clench of his ass.

 _Oh yeah,_ thought Dean distantly. He only had the planetarium plug on Cas’s desk, but it wasn’t a toy per se, so Dean could use both hands on his cock. It had been a long while since he’d jacked off like that.

 _Two_ hands. Yeah, that was the stuff. Coupled with the menu on the arm of the couch, Dean was practically blissful. He milked his cock, squeezing upwards with his right hand, then his left, then his right, then his left, getting faster and getting wetter as he read the menu aloud.

“[Endive Salad with Candied Pecans and Blue Cheese.](http://www.foodnetwork.co.uk/recipes/endive-salad-with-candied-pecans-and-maytag-blue-cheese.html)..Gosh that sounds good...” He grew breathless as he switched to circling his slit with a fingertip. “And there’s – there’s a side dressing on the Autumn Crunch salad...a radicchio, chicory, oh, oh _gosh,_ a zesty dressing...I wish that was my come. It’d taste better, that’s for sure.”

Dean pumped fast with one hand, like he was practicing interval training in masturbation, the other tapping clumsy morse code messages, clumsy because his finger kept slipping in the pearly tears his slit was weeping. Images of [Prawn Panzanella](http://www.jamieoliver.com/recipes/seafood-recipes/prawn-panzanella)s and [Nicoise Salad](http://www.foodnetwork.co.uk/recipes/my-nicoise-salad.html)s flashed through his mind, dressings dripping from the transitions and their tastes almost becoming the spit Dean moistened his lips with. It was _delicious,_ and as he released his cock to grab another menu, so his cock released.

After moaning and twitching through his unexpected orgasm, Dean muttered a quiet, _“Shoot,”_ and did his best to scoop the come that hadn’t seeped through his shirt with his little finger. He sucked off what he could, and sighed when it didn’t taste like any of the vinaigrettes he imagined.

“Science has gotta get on that,” he said to himself and the empty room.

He waited awhile longer for Cas to come back, entertaining himself by sitting in the boss’s chair and looking out over the skyline. Dean loved the city at night; the tiny squares of lights like needle holes in indigo felt, the faint commotion of cars thirty storeys down, so far away it sounded like the bleed of noise just before sleep, and the calm contentedness that came with seeing the moon emanate through orange smog.

Dean wouldn’t trade lives with anyone in the world if it meant giving up his precious onyx city.

He was still looking out into the stars of skyscrapers when Cas came back.

“How’d it go, Mr Adler?” he asked as he felt the boss’s chin on his head.

“It was confirmed that one of our staff is leaking our plans to Henhold, Ziegel, and Stone. Everyone was being profoundly patronising and idiotic, so I fired someone for their incompetence and put another board member on probation. I just want to go home and take you to bed.” Cas pressed a kiss to Dean’s parting, and, after a beat, sniffed a confused sniff. “What were you doing while you were waiting for me, Mr Smith?”

Dean lifted his arms and wound them around the back of Cas’s neck. “Oh, you know...watching the city, dreaming of being C.M.O, trying to jerk off to your pictures…”

“Trying?”

“Yeah, _trying_ being the operative word. Turns out you don’t do it for me.” Letting go and swivelling around, Dean played with Castiel’s tie, ignoring the curious eyes focused on him. But, he did acknowledge them when he said, “Turns out the salad menus did the trick.”

Cas chuckled. “Of course they did.”

He straddled the chair to kiss his way down Dean’s shirt and suck what he could out of it, and when he was satisfied, shifted so he was in Dean’s lap.

“Roll us forwards,” Cas commanded, and when Dean obeyed, he booted up the computer.

However, the computer had other ideas.

“I’m going to have to send an email down to IT…” murmured Castiel before he realised his mistake. He laughed quietly and bounced in a hollow threat when Dean chortled a little less than quietly.

Dean stopped laughing all together when Castiel made a remark about the similarities between the IT department’s uniform and shirt Dean was currently wearing.

They moved to the couch, where Castiel sent the email about his Blue Screen of Death to IT on his phone, and where Dean folded his jacket as protectively as a mother would put her baby in a crib before they snuggled on the creaky leather.

“What did you need the computer for, anyway?” Dean asked into Cas’s warm neck.

With a nonchalant shrug, he replied, “I was going to print off some more menus for you.”

Dean smiled and let his thanks known in the form of a kiss and a grope. “Take me to yours?”

It was a question he’d asked before, but this time it was hopeful, pleading, vulnerable. It felt different this time. It was outright, in no way subtle, and could not be misconstrued or waved off. Dean just prayed that the answer would be different too.

It wasn’t.

“I would, Dean, but I am perfectly comfortable here for the while. Can’t we just—”

“Why don’t you want me to see your place?”

Every touch between them tensed.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Cas said in a clipped voice, holding Dean’s imploring gaze for too long. And Dean would have bet anything then that his hands were doing nothing to defend their owner.

Dean held the gaze for longer, hoping it would drag the truth out of its receiver. Dean Smith hated arguing. Bickering he could do, as it came with having a little sister, but arguing was horrid, and he avoided it at all costs. Dean Smith liked peace, and being honest but not bluntly so, and having healthy relationships. And sure, sneaking around behind the company’s back with the boss wasn’t exactly healthy, but Dean Smith didn’t fall for people easily, and he had to cradle his tripping heart when unexpected hurdles appeared on the track of life.

Finally acquiescing, Castiel sighed. “My home is not...It’s not what you would expect. It’s small—one-bedroomed—and hardly minimalist in the way you perhaps would think, judging by my office. I have yoga mats everywhere, tapestries from my travels on the walls, and ornaments and trinkets filling shelves. My rug is threadbare but it was my mother’s, and I can’t see the wallpaper for photographs and paintings. I don’t even have a coffee machine. You’d hate it. And my bed is a waterbed. You’d honestly hate it, Dean.”

Dean thought for a moment. He thought upon the tremble in Cas’s voice, and how it disappeared towards the end, like he was so sure of what he was saying. Like Dean could actually hate the personification of his boyfriend’s personality.

“I’ve always wondered what sex on a waterbed is like,” is what he said, and what he hoped was enough for Cas to understand.

It was.

Cas made to get up, but before he could do that, Dean stopped him by crawling down his legs and unzipping him.

“Just so we’re on equal footing regarding orgasms for tonight, I’m going to suck on your balls ‘til you come. Is that alright with you, sir?”

“Thank you for running that by me. Your efficiency is, as always, inspiring, Mr Smith.”

An addictive groan left Castiel’s mouth when Dean sucked them both behind his teeth. They were fairly large, so it was always a feat Dean prided himself in. They were splendid, piquant, and _weighty,_ and well worth burying his face in a thick thatch of hair for. There was a beautiful _pop_ as Dean released them back into their wild, and a glistening trail of saliva leading them back to Dean’s lips. He followed it with his tongue and licked the organic nuts with a pointed tip, letting their weight fall about as Cas fell apart above them. Dean finished him off with an abundance of deep, messy kisses, and basked in the dressing he’d been waiting for all night.

Making bigger wet spots out of the wet spots on Cas’s shirt, Dean tucked him back in, and allowed Cas to sit up and lick the cream off his face like a starving kitten.

“Yours?” Dean asked, more of a confirmation than a question for the first time.

“Mine,” Castiel said, a fondness and affection coming over his handsome face as he swiped the last of his come from Dean’s nose.

A delayed _thunk_ on the glass door shattered the post-orgasmic bliss.

“Umm...I’m supposed to be fixing a computer?” A tall man in a yellow shirt hovered nervously in the doorway, and Dean recognised him as IT Guy, whom he’d ridden in elevators with enough to be familiar with –  which meant that IT Guy definitely knew that they were employer and employee, and seen enough to know that they were probably having tremendous sex.

“Yes, you are.” Seemingly unfazed, Castiel pointed towards his desk. He stopped IT Guy before he got there, though, and with a collected hand hovering in front of the man’s yellow polo, said, “You tell anyone you saw this, and I will personally see to your dismissal. Not just from this company, but from any company you may be employed at in the future.”

IT Guy’s brown locks covered his wide eyes as he nodded frantically.

“I shall also do the same if you fail to fix my computer, obviously,” Cas tacked on. After a short, sufficient silence, he kissed Dean full on the mouth and winked.

“Shall we?” gestured Dean, more than a little uncomfortable as the display of power was both pants-tighteningly hot and brow-crinklingly imputable.

Cas nodded, and Dean left IT Guy with an apologetic grimace and a clap to his strong shoulder.

“By the way,” Cas murmured as they held hands all the way to Dean’s Prius, “one of the perks of being the boss means I can make exceptions to the rules. And you, Dean, are an exception to the employee-employer relationship clause.”

Dean’s heart tripped, and he barely had time to set it back on its feet again. “Then what was _that_ about? I’ve seen less peacocking on America’s Next Top Model!”

For the first time since they met, Cas didn’t have anything to say. He just smiled and squeezed Dean’s hand. By no means was Dean happy with the cadence in their conversation, but he squeezed Cas’s hand back all the same, and waited for the song to finish.

* * *

He didn’t have to wait long.

They were curled up under the sheets of Cas’s waterbed when Cas whispered it in his ear:

“It was about showing you that I would do anything for you. Not just because I like you a terrifying amount, but because I respect you.”

“I like you a terrifying amount too, Cas, respect you too. Just so we’re clear.”

“Clear as your dildos.”

Dean snorted, making the mattress wobble some. He little-spooned with ease, relaxed into his yoga breathing, and didn’t even flinch when Cas kneaded his tummy.

Everything was oh, so good.


End file.
